


Shame

by strixus



Category: Spy vs Spy
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M, Mind Games
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-03
Updated: 2010-01-03
Packaged: 2017-10-05 17:15:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/44086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strixus/pseuds/strixus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The question of control is always in play for the Spies. For Black, it is a game. Sometimes, games can be serious.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shame

**Author's Note:**

> One of the most interesting things about this fandom is the lack of characterization. In a way, the spies are externals we can project any inner life on we like. And perhaps that makes writing them more disturbing, too.

Black stepped into the shower and flicked on the spray, grateful for the hot water more than he was even to be alive. He stank of sweat, blood, and gunpowder; his skin was gritty, covered in soot and dust that now flowed from it, the water pooling in the tub a noticeably darker color, the bits of grit getting caught in the drain. He leaned his head under the spray, closing his eyes, propping himself against the shower wall beneath the head, letting the warm water flow across his bare skin.

The water flowed across his shoulders and down his back, running in small streams around the sides of his neck. He watched the water cascade down, leaning his head forward and arching his upper back into the warm spray. The water pooling in the bottom of the shower before vanishing into the drain was murky with soot and dirt. Even under where his shirt had been he had a fine coating of dust and grit and ash. The ventilation shaft had been disgusting, and the explosion after the fact had rained dust and char over him and three square city blocks as he had calmly walked away from the hotel where the White nation vicepresident had been staying.

That brought a smile to his face. He usually wasn’t sent in on assassination jobs, it wasn’t his forte. But this had been perfect for him, an explosives job that required the utmost stealth and gal. He’d blown up the side of the hotel where the suite was, and done it under the noses of at least a hundred top White nation agents, as well as local police. And the explosion had been beautiful.

He stood upright and turned away from the spray of the water, letting it continue to wash across his back, reaching for the bar of soap. The water alone would never get to the fine layer of greasy ash that had settled on his skin, let alone the fine particulate that seemed to get everywhere. He lathered his hands, and then began to work the soap across his chest and neck, letting his mind wander. The only way the day could have been better, he thought as he ran his soapy hands across the ridges of his abs, was if White had been one of the agents. His rival had not been amongst the number there, however, yet still the thought of the embarrassment and indignation White would have felt made Black’s mind tingle with pleasure.

Black turned back to face into the spray of the warm water, realizing as the flow rinsed away the lather that the thought of White’s embarrassment had been more than just slightly pleasant. The image in his mind of White realizing seconds too late that Black had gotten through the security in place around the hotel, the rage and shame on White’s face as he was dressed down again by his superiors for failing to stop Black, those images in his mind were, to put it simply, arousing the hell out of him.

He lathered his hands again and let them trace absent-mindedly across his hips and crotch, teasing himself into a full erection as the shower washed away the soapy foam nearly as soon as it touched his skin. His mind occupied itself with thoughts of other times he had been the victor over White, especially those times when he had been there to see White’s face contorted with that mix of anger and frustration his features almost seemed designed to express so perfectly. Eyes wide in horror or narrowed in animosity, his long features warped around the clenching muscles of his jaw and the grinding of tooth against tooth, thin lips pulled back in that wonderful half snarl: White’s face was etched clearly in his memory like that, over and over. Black shivered as he let his fingers trace along his own length, loving the memories of White’s ever-present shame that he had, once more, lost to Black.

Black leaned forward again into the spray of the shower, bracing his weight with a hand against the wall beneath the shower head, exposing his back to the warm water, and letting the flow trickle down and across his now slightly spread ass cheeks. He let his hand trace a light line across the sensitive curve of his hipbone, then across the firm muscle and pale, scar latticed skin until his fingers slid into the crack of his ass. He let his head hang limp, the water running through his hair again, his eyes slowly closing as the warm pleasure of his own fingers teasing his entrance filtered through his mind like a fog. With a swift motion he entered himself, biting his lip to stifle the moan of pleasure, clenching his eyes shut. White’s rage twisted face floated in his memory, and Black found himself pushing back against his own fingers as he thought of how shamed, how angry, White would be if he knew Black did this while thinking of him.

The thought, and the sensation, were cut suddenly short. A hand grabbed his wrist, yanking up, pulling his hand free and twisting his arm back and onto its self, at the same time shoving him forward, hard. He felt his elbow give enough that he nearly toppled over, but a second arm reaching over his own and around his throat to press a blade against the soft, exposed flesh there stopped him. He froze, feeling the water still spraying across his skin, feeling the bone grinding grip around his wrist, feeling the cold sharp line at his throat, feeling the press of a second body against his own holding him in place. And even over the smell of soap and water, Black knew who held him by scent and the feeling of hands alone.

White.

Black swallowed hard, cursing at himself for letting his guard down. Had he forgotten to set his traps and alarms? Had he somehow led the other agent here? How had he been found? None of that mattered, but the questions still rolled through his mind. He could feel White’s breath on his neck; he could feel the edge of White’s clothes quickly becoming soaked by the still running shower; and he could feel the rage radiating out of the opposing agent behind him like a palatable force.

“You realize,” said the breathy, dark voice in his ear, “that my entire country wants you dead, right?” The last word was punctuated with slightly more pressure being applied by the blade across his throat.

Black swallowed hard. “If you wanted me dead, I’d already be dead.” It was the truth, and they both knew it. That didn’t stop White, however, from tightening his grip and twisting Black’s already strained arm further onto itself, intensifying the pain and making Black hiss between his teeth. Black couldn’t help himself, however, and heard the words leaving his lips even as he thought them. “Liked the show too much and had to join me?”

Black felt White’s knife leave his throat only seconds before the arm behind him was used to leverage him forward into the shower wall. Black had just enough time to let his own arm collapse in on itself to avoid being broken before his face was slammed into the damp white tile, the rest of his body following with bone jarring force. White’s free arm, probably still holding the knife, now pressed into Black’s neck, pinning him. His own arm wound up pinned under his chest, unable to move due to the way he was being held, and his legs were now forced slightly apart by the faucet and knob for the water flow for the bath part of the mixed alcove.

Despite himself, Black laughed, a hissing, almost giggle that bubbled out of him unbidden. White shoved him again, and Black realized with a slight flush that he was both still very turned on and his erection was now pinned against his belly and the cold wall. The sudden friction of White’s second shove sent a wave of pleasure coursing up into his brain. White was furious, irrationally so, and Black knew that bubbling in his mind was the mix of rage, shame and humiliation that excited him so much to think about. It briefly crossed his mind that he might wind up dead out of this mess, but for now, he wanted to see just how much he could goad his rival.

“So was that a yes?” he asked, trying to keep his head turned to where he was free to talk and so his long fine boned nose wouldn’t be broken by one of those hard blows into the wall.

At first, White only answered by stepping closer, using more of his body mass and less of his physical strength to hold Black in place. Black still couldn’t see his attacker except from the corner of his eye, but he could imagine the expression on White’s face.

White’s tone painted an even clearer picture. “You self righteous, smug, pompous son of a bitch. It’s all a fucking game to you, isn’t it?” Black had to admit, at times, that was the perfect characterization of him, and that yes, it was a game to him: it had to be. Black felt White suddenly grab him by the hair on the back of his head with the hand still holding the knife, and then White slammed his head back against the tile again. “Isn’t it?” White demanded, then shoved Black with the lower hand again. Despite the taste of blood in his mouth and the cuts his teeth had made in the soft flesh of his cheeks, Black had to stifle a moan.

“Of course it is.” Black said. He braced himself for the next shove from White that he knew would follow what he said. “And it’s a game I keep winning.” This time White shoved his head so hard against the tile his skull rang like a bell, and he was sure one of his teeth cracked. Whatever’s crawled up your ass, White, to get you this insanely mad; this is fantastic. I could have been out of this hold minutes ago, but this is too much. He could feel his own heat against the cold of the wall, and it was all he could do not to grind his hips against the tile to stimulate himself more.

“You’re a fucking nutcase, Black. This is real. This isn’t a fucking game.” Another blow of his head into the tile, this one he managed to twist slightly so that his cheek wasn’t any more cut up by his teeth. “I’m going to show you how real this is, Black. Show you so you won’t ever forget.”

The tone of White’s voice alone made Black nearly lose it. The frustration, the anger, the humiliation Black had put White through over and over again, it was all there in those dark, breathy words. Black could care less what was about to happen to him: the though that he could cause that sort of emotion in White was almost enough to make him cum all over the wall. His entire body shuddered with it, and he bit his lip and whimpered. White must have mistaken the sound for fear, because he laughed.

Black felt White’s arm leave the back of his neck, and he head the sound the blade made as it returned to wherever White hid it on his person. He felt White push his body weight harder against the twisted arm, pinning him even more firmly against the tile. Black could now feel the wet cloth of White’s shirt and pants as White hooked his legs through Black’s to hold them spread. And he could feel White’s body heat through the sodden cloth, feel the curves of muscle and bone pushing against him in the pin. Black realized how clumsy White was being, how easily he now could have had White on his back, neck snapped, in only moments if he had wanted to. White should know this, too, thought Black, but he doesn’t care. And really, neither do I.

And then White’s hand was spreading the cheeks of his ass; forcing fingertips into his entrance with what would have been painful speed had Black not already been stretching himself when all this began. Three fingers were suddenly buried to the knuckle inside of him, and Black whimpered, biting his lip against the flood of sensation. His hips bucked against the wall once before White forced them still. His fingers hooked, short nails scratching at the soft flesh, then White spread his fingers wide. Black’s mind went white for a moment with pain and pleasure, the sudden sensation of being stretched beyond his limits and the tearing of tissue rivaling with the wonderful feeling of fullness. He tried to squirm against the tile, to both drive the fingers deeper and free himself from them, instead only assaulting himself with the friction of the tile. His knees would have buckled had White not been holding him in place.

And then the feeling was gone, replaced by the discomfort of torn tissue and raw nerve ends, White’s fingers sliding out of him, dragging white hot lines of pain inside him all the way to the surface, then gone. Black could smell his own blood, faintly, but knew he was only superficially injured. Focus came back, and he wondered what, exactly White was doing. It was difficult to hear anything over the flowing water, so he tried to turn his head, only to be rewarded by the hand snaking through his short hair again, taking hold, and slamming his face into the tile again. This time he spit blood.

But it wasn’t in his nature to be silent, and all he wanted right now was to torment White even more. “Done already?” he asked, aware of how ragged his voice sounded. What he got in reply was a blow across the back of the head that rang his skull again.

“Shut up,” White’s voice hissed, and Black went still as he felt hard, water-slick flesh press between his legs. The head of White’s cock was white hot in the rapidly cooling shower spray as it pressed against Black’s overstretched opening. White paused only a moment, then unceremoniously shoved himself into Black with a harsh, ragged grunt. Black, feeling the tender and already over sensitized flesh suddenly stretch again, gave a high, wailing cry. White only shoved himself in deeper, pressing harder against Black’s back with his whole body, bracing himself against the twisted arm and the back of Black’s neck and head.

Black decided, even with his face pressed into the tile, that it was time to taunt White again. “If you think,” he started, then spat blood again, “If you’re going to fuck me, fuck me. This isn’t,” and his words were cut off as his teeth slammed back into the tile, followed by White withdrawing to almost his full length and slamming back into Black.

Fingers twisted hard in his hair, pulling his head back and for the first time he could see White’s face. Rage twisted his features, dark circles pooled under swollen red eyes, and his lips were pulled back into a snarl of hate. “Shut up.” The words were punctuated with two sharp thrusts. Black heard something in his back pop as the angle strained his back into an arch. “It’s time you were the one being humiliated. Its time,” the thrust jabbed into him, “For you to lose.”

Black felt his eyes roll back for a moment as the sensation of White’s thrusts sliding over his prostate nearly drove him over the edge. But Black had more control over himself than that, even with the situation as it was. The expression on White’s face alone was the thing of his best dreams, and now, having White so twisted with rage that he was pulling this animalistic display of dominance to show just once he could win – Black’s head was swimming. And he knew how to get even more out of it.

Black let his mouth hang open and moaned, a thick, wet, wanton sound, as he pushed his hips back against White, managing to arc backwards slightly even against White’s full weight pressing into him. He felt White tense, and startle just enough to be perceptible, which gave him just enough leverage to pull himself forward along White’s length, then shove back, twisting his hips ever so slightly. He let another moan escape, this one genuine, and tried to twist his head enough so that he knew White could see the expression on his face. Catching the look on White’s face was worth the strained muscle in his neck: it would have been worth anything.

Repulsion, disgust, anger, and most of all, complete embarrassment had churned White’s face into a mash of emotions. White was trying, at least part of him was trying, to shove himself away from Black, as rage overwhelmed disgust and embarrassment. And in that instant, just as White was in the midst of determining what to do with this turn of events, Black played his last card.

White’s confusion gave him even more room to move, and with it, he repeated his previous movement, thrusting forward and then back, with enough leverage that he managed to drive White’s cock into himself to the base of the shaft. That stimulation was enough, and he felt his muscles clench and spasm around White. He held himself there, on the edge of orgasm, for what felt like an eternity. There were two outcomes here, and he hoped, in that back part of his mind that could still think around the incredible feeling burning in him, for one rather than the other.

White’s expression changed from rage, to confusion, to panic, and then the exquisite expression of embarrassed pleasure. Black felt White’s orgasm rock through him, muscles moving on reflex, filling and emptying into him. It drove him over the edge, into his own orgasm, and felt the heat of his own fluids against the cold of his own skin and the tile. His head swam from it, it seemed to go on without end.

Then White was in a rage, screaming inarticulate things, his shame and failure boiling over. Black could barely think, let alone stand. White slammed him into the wall again, withdrawing from him, spinning him into the corner. Blow after blow of sharp, scared knuckles hit his face. And then there was blissful, merciful unconsciousness.

***

Black had no idea how many hours later it was when he regained consciousness once more. He was still naked, laying in the bottom of the bathtub, the water long drained away and the tile long dried. Groggily, he spat blood and part of a tooth onto the pale white ceramic. He stared at the pink and white shape for what felt like an hour before his mind gained any coherence.

He grinned and laughed, wincing as he did. He’d won again.

**Author's Note:**

> ... dear lord I love writing from the inside of Black's twisted head.


End file.
